She lunged.
She grabbed the microphone with both hands and pulled.
Mr. Lombardi held on.
The speakers shrieked with feedback.
For three seconds, they wrestled over it at the edge of the stage, the principal’s tie flapping, Millicent’s gold bracelet banging against the metal.
People gasped.
Someone’s date dropped a cup.
She wrenched it free.
“This is a slander!” she shouted into it, and her voice boomed off every wall. “That man was a janitor with a cash habit and access to the cafeteria registers! You don’t know where that money came from! The board will be auditing every register in this school for st*aling!”
The word hung in the air.
My stomach turned over.
“Ma’am,” a small voice said.
Mrs. Eriksen was on her feet again, holding a folder against her chest like a shield.
“I counted every drawer in that cafeteria for sixteen years,” she said. “We were never short. Not once.”
